


Phoney War (The Sequel to the Somme)

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had no choice but to declare war, but that didn't mean they were ready for it.  England/fem!France.  Takes place during the early days of WWII.  Unedited drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoney War (The Sequel to the Somme)

When the news that Germany had marched into Poland broke, like cold ice over everyone’s heads, it was not surprise but premature grief that held them enraptured. The knowledge that it would happen _when,_ and not if, had hung over their heads like an executioner’s promise for years. They had tried to warn Poland, but he didn’t care. Flippant and passive as always (even in his own affairs) they had given up on him. Marianne said she prayed for him. Arthur did not know how she could still pray, after all they had been (and put each other) through. 

Arthur sat with his royal family, staring into his teacup while the liquid inside swirled and grew cold. They did not hear the radio rattle with emotion, there was no righteous anger as Prime Minister Chamberlain announced, “all my long struggle to win peace” – _to appease Herr Hitler, Arthur scoffed,_ “has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more that I could have done.” Arthur wanted someone, anyone, to be angry, but the wait-and-see PM they had been saddled with was certainly not the one to do it. The broadcast ended, the radio was silent — and the two little princesses, more precious than they could ever know, huddled together and tried to be brave. Arthur’s hands shook as he sipped his tea. Bravery. What good had bravery ever done them in the face of utter destruction?

Marianne appeared at Buckingham that evening. She brought no luggage and when she saw him she gave him only the smallest of smiles, allowing herself to be shown inside. As they ascended the stairs together there was no flurry of company to take photographs and ask questions, no fanfare, no noise; only the two of them and the young king George, who saw them go but said not a word. Perhaps he and the British people had been glad to look down on his brother for his affairs with an impure woman, but such a thing could be excused for his nation. After all, Arthur had far more at stake now than any mortal.

“They say a war like this only comes once in a lifetime,” Marianne whispered and pulled the sheets around herself. She was uncharacteristically shy of him, but he plucked the cotton from her fingers and ran his hand across her skin anyway.

“They only say that because they can’t believe they’re living to see two,” He saw the dimples on the curves of her thighs and knew then what she was trying to hide. “Verdun?”

“The Somme,” She breathed out a sigh, and covered up her scars. He gave up trying to unmask her and instead lay beside her, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes like they were children with secrets to share.

“I was there with you,” He said quietly. “At the Somme.”

“I know you were,” She rolled in closer to him. “But that does not mean we won.”

“We survived, didn’t we?” 

“By the skin of our teeth and the death of thousands of men. One battle in the Great War took the lives of more men than we could have ever spared to fight a century ago." She breathed in, only to continue in a whisper. "It will only be a once-in-a-lifetime war for those who die in it.” Marianne was gone, covering her face as if it was a scar as well. By the shuddering of her shoulders he knew she was crying, but he had nothing new to say, nothing helpful beyond “I’m scared too”, but of course she knew that. She always knew that.

So she lay naked in his arms, exposed though she loathed to be, and Arthur held her and numbly wondered if grass would ever grow again in those long warped meadows by the River Somme. Anything he could think to do to keep that looming storm cloud away that much longer, he would – he hoped she had tears enough for the both of them. Sometime far in the future people would call it the Phoney War. To those two ancient, eternal people who sat and watched it happen, it was simply denial – and it was welcome to them.


End file.
